The 99th Platoon: Sweet Revenge
by Zimbio
Summary: The 99th Platoon are shut down for 6th months and suddenly return to action on a request. However, they find their mission cuts closer to home than anyone would've liked... Rated for swearing and rampant violence.
1. Compromised Confidentiality

Author's Notes: Welcome, please read and enjoy.

For those of you who don't know of the 99th Platoon, please do an author search for 'Gappap'. His fanfiction work will explain the platoon much better than I ever could. Plus, I owe him much, for forming the 99th Platoon and for finding me when I disappeared from said platoon.

The abridged version of the 99th Platoon, for those reluctant to read Gappap's stories: We are a group of people who create interactive fan fiction amongst ourselves, in the form of missions. Usually, one or two people begin the mission and loosely guide it along. However, we are an exclusive group. There are about 20 active members.

What does this mean to you? Well, I alone cannot take credit for this work. I have to thank: Sarge and Dark, for their amazing writing and the pleasure of co-authoring this mission with them. Oreos, Chael, Pyst, Stealth, Flatfeet, Mon, Coolguy, Ajax, Deja, Snickers, Blaze, Kay, Zeta and Serena for participating in this mission. And also, Ricy and Twisted, because although they didn't actually participate, they both form a small part of this mission.

And Rare for the awesome game known as Conker's Bad Fur Day.

Now that I've ranted, here's the first chapter. Please read and review.

-Thomas "WWW" C. Blight

Oh, and all characters are copyright their respective owners.

* * *

Chapter 1: Compromised Confidentiality

_There are things far, far worse than death. Death is merely an escape from it all, and those who choose such over another, more difficult option, are the ones that should not have lived in the first place. They are simply useless, and they should be forced to carry on with the rougher road despite their fears. Weak. The mere idea of choosing death over pain sickens me, for pain is but weakness leaving the body. Once you've endured enough, what weakness do you have? Emotionally and physically, you're solid -- rock-like in stature. Nothing can deter you from any chosen course, and being such, you have power -- a power inconceivable to many._

_I have been through unimaginable amounts of pain -- mental and physical -- that a lot of others would've simply crippled and buckled under. My parents, who I loathe and have loathed since my childhood, showed me the meaning of pain at a very young age. Since then, it has ruled my life. However, I met a brief session of relief when I stumbled into the courtroom and the judge allowed me a second chance at life; the army, and inevitably the 99th Platoon._

_Albeit, at first, there were many members who I didn't get along with, and I'm sure they saw me as a bloodthirsty criminal who could offer nothing to the team but a chain reaction of reckless actions that would eventually lead to the demise of us all. How far from the truth that was, luckily, for through my actions and the actions of the others, we grew close -- family-like relationship-wise. We were brothers in arms, and we did, indeed, have a few women on the team. The name of one of them escapes me, but I fondly remember Rico's cousin, Deja. I remember speaking with her away from the rest of the men a few times, and she was-- no, I have to keep hope -- is a wonderful person. Unworthy, I was and am of her mere presence, for I am but a criminal._

_But I digress._

_Flashbacks. I have so many flashbacks. War. Bloodshed. Pain. Sorrow. All of it rushes back to me and hits me at night with such force that it is almost like taking a full-on punch to the gut. I awaken in a cold sweat, my muscles quaking. It isn't fear.. No, not fear, for I am not afraid of death.. Nor the inescapable fact that I have killed and undoubtedly will kill again.. But rather, I believe it is just a natural reaction when one returns from war. It doesn't really matter, though. I write this because my own death is about to be expedited with thousands of volts of electricity.. Not the way I wanted to go out, but inevitably the way I will._

_Mm.. Here they come again -- the guards. They think they're tough just because they can beat up a prisoner in a four-on-one bash with weaponry. Funny. And the sound grows closer.. Billy clubs on steel bars.. A constant annoyance. It seems that they're going to make a pit stop at my cell... This should be interesting.."_

The incessant ringing of the clubs on the bars halted at the darkest cell on the block. It was nearly impossible to see into the shadows, but it was said that the prisoner the cell housed could see anyone outside his cell perfectly -- in light or in pitch black darkness. Four guards stood outside the cell, and one of them slid a key into a small slot upon a rectangular portion of the cell door. He removed the key, stashing it into one of the pockets upon his vest, and slid the door open, pulling up his riot shield. They advanced.

_Four enter.._

It was a mixture of cracks and horrible screams. The tearing of flesh and the moans of pain. A loud roar made the walls rumble as one of the unfortunate four guards was launched out of the darkness, landing in a rather odd position upon the railing. He was practically split in two upon the steel handrail, bent, for all intents and purposes, the whole way around it. Blood trickled down from inside his mouth, losing its battle to gravity and falling down to the lower levels of the prison, landing with a light splash upon the concrete floor.

Two more guards flew from the cell, but they didn't hit the guard rail. Instead, they slid just beneath it, their limp corpses plummeting downwards to the ground floor. Two sickening thuds signified their imminent death… That is, if they weren't dead upon exiting the cell. It was more probable that they were due to the large gashes upon their backs and such. Blood flowed from the wounds profusely, melding in with the already-large pool of blood that had formed just from the fall. Bones lay beside the corpses, fragmented.

The inmate, a former soldier known only by his code name of "Dark," emerged from the cell, blood dripping from his mouth and hands. His fingers were wrapped tightly about the throat of the last of the guards, who was struggling in vain to free himself from the grasp of the monstrosity. As said before, his attempts were in vain. Cheers met the panther as he let the guard stand by his own free will, releasing him. However, when the guard went to run, Dark lunged forward, bringing his fist around in a right-cross-like-manner and meeting solidly with the jaw of the squirrel. Its head twisted practically the whole way around, a sickening crack emitting from the base of its neck. The guard slumped to the ground, indefinitely another victim.

_None leave... Alive..._

The fugitive slinked through the forest with instinctual grace. He had been running for several hours now. Not running away from any would-be assailants, though. The fugitive, the warrior, knew his place in the world and knew it was not rotting in that jail cell. He was now approaching the city. Windy, skyscrapers towering, apartment buildings everywhere and sprawling suburbs as far as the eye can see. The place that was his home, although the stranger was never home. Dark was ever the stranger, always unable to relax. No, unable wasn't the word. Unwilling. He had faced the consequences of thinking he was safe. He would not make the mistake again.

The shadow crept out of the forest and into an alley. He made his way, quickly but stealthily, down a path he once frequented. Once upon a time, he had taken this path, once upon a time. It seemed so long ago, although he couldn't deny that it was only as little as six months since he had last tread this path.

He proceeded to the door of a run-down house. The classic model '89 Squirrelac army green convertible parked in the driveway was dirty and smelt. The man who owned it was obviously in turmoil. Dark remembered the owner of the house treating that car like his own child. Amazing how much has changed.

Dark's knuckles rapped on the door three times. The door opened and a shotgun barrel poked Dark in the chest. The squirrel that opened the door was big, about as big as Dark. He was wearing standard army attire with dozens of metals pinned to the chest. His clothes were torn and buttons were missing. The cuffs were virtually non-existent. He looked like he had been wearing the same thing for over 10 years. Dark looked up at his face. The squirrel's face was heavily wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a month. Overall, the squirrel looked like he had aged ten years since Dark last saw him, though Dark knew it to be six months since they last met. Dark suddenly realized how much being shut down and forced into society had affected all of them. It had only been six months, but the mighty had fallen gracelessly in that short time.

"We need to talk," The squirrel said. His voice was hoarse.  
"Indeed," Dark replied. They entered the house.

Windy was a beautiful city, and it was one of the safer places. Squirrels of all shapes and sizes and occasionally panthers and other species took refuge in the city, finding well-paying jobs in the various buildings lining the streets and starting families -- just generally living happily. They knew not what kept them safe, however, for a scenario was never presented to them in which they would have learned the identity of the mysterious unit that saved their lives countless times and kept them distanced from any sort of peril. The vast majority of Windy's inhabitants believed -- truly believed! -- that the force that kept them safe and allowed for them to go about their lives unobstructed was Conker himself. At one point, such would have been true. However, the legendary squirrel enlisted quite a bit of help since the fateful day he became King, and that help was unknown to most regions of the world, let alone the city of Windy…

Unfortunately, the large amount of secrecy and precautions taken to keep these individuals out of the public eye had been compromised. Trusted aid to Conker, Arkaine, had gone to a meeting with the media, and he had attempted to cover for the secret organization known only as the 99th Platoon, but he had failed miserably. Not only had he failed, but he had accidentally released the number of the unit to the public, thus compromising the whole operation.. An operation that dated back years and many, many successful operations. The 99th Platoon had put down Tediz uprisings over and over again, and they had stopped various other means of world destruction. They were taken deeper into the Agency, and their identities were erased… But that had all been compromised, and the whole operation would have to be shut down... A tragedy of tragedies.

That tragedy was what had the squirrel of great stature and the ex-con panther sitting in the same room, conversing. They had once been good friends. They had once fought side-by-side and back-to-back.. Gave their blood, sweat, and tears for their homeland, but that homeland had betrayed them. It had taken away their lives, and then a few years later, it had spit them back out with nothing but the clothes on their back and a swift kick in the ass. Disrespectful and disgraceful, indeed, but they could do nothing about it.. And as such, every member of the Platoon fell into a decline..

"So, you're saying that this 'Arkaine' person that just so happened to let our unit number slip.. You're saying it was actually his intention?"

The panther ran his hand over his chin, which boasted quite a bit of stubble from lack of shaving.

"That's what I'm sayin'.. Got word just recently from an unknown source."

"Mm... I'm not one to question your motives, Rico.. And I would rather not go back to prison… So, I'm with you on this one. What do you say we round up the rest of the gang?"

Both Dark and Sarge smiled -- a genuine, all-too-rare smile.

The phone rang. The panther and squirrel shared a paranoid look. The phone rang again. The squirrel named Rico finally answered it.

"Hello, Mr. Rodriguez," the caller said.  
"Hello. State your name and business," Rodriguez answered.  
"Warclat. Tom Warclat," the caller said.  
"Well why in 's sake didn't you introduce yourself as WWW?" Rodriguez yelled at the phone. Dark chuckled, happy to hear from another former member of the 99th Platoon.  
"Whatever. I've just received an interesting request and I thought you and Dark would like to hear about it," WWW said, giving off a little laugh.  
"How the do you know about that? Damnit WWW, do you have this place bugged?" Rico asked.  
"You'd be surprised what kind of stuff we've put in your house. That medal you got when we were shut down is a camera, so is the plaque. When you got your TV repaired we got the repairman to put a camera behind the screen. We've been watching you. Don't worry, Dark is safe, I'm the only one watching the feed," WWW said seriously.  
"WWW, quit ing around and get to the point," Rodriguez demanded.  
"It's time for a meeting with the boys and girls. Same place, same time," WWW said, promptly hanging up.

"Dark we're going for a little ride," Sarge said, throwing both his latest medal and plaque on the ground and crushing them under the heel of his combat boot.  
"Where to?" The panther asked.  
"Anthrax's place," Sarge said, walking out the front door.

The old, somewhat run down car rolled easily along the pathways and roads leading to Anthrax's Bar, a name that was synonymous with the 99th Platoon itself. It was the place they would return to time and time again; it was their own little piece of heaven, one might say. They would drink and celebrate successful missions, mourn the loss of a fellow platoon member, and devise plans for upcoming missions. It was home. For the Platoon, there was no place like it, and they would stay at the pub until Anthrax kicked them out, and that was quite doubtful, for he and the Platoon were quite close. Indeed, he had disagreed with some of their antics from time to time, but no matter how trashed his place became, he would never force the wild military band out, and he would always welcome them back with open arms. He knew that without the 99ers, a lot of the freedoms -- if not all -- would not be possible, and he could quite possibly be under Tediz rule instead.

The army-green classic vehicle pulled into the barren parking lot, and the headlights shone brightly upon the face of the door. The lights flicked off along with the engine and the radio that very rarely worked correctly. Both doors swung open and two boots hit the gravel at the exact same time. A panther, a mythical figure known for his viciousness and his mysterious background, emerged from the passenger side, and a muscular squirrel, legendary in stature for his steadfast determination and his ability to command his forces with both skill and regard for his troops.

The two slowly made their way towards the front entrance and easily pushed the door open; they stepped inside. The interior of the pub had changed quite a bit since the disbanding of the Platoon, for it seemed as if everything was in its correct place and nothing was broken. There was not a table out of place or a scuffmark on the floor. Anthrax must have become so bored in the absence of the Platoon that he had polished up his place to no end. Dark moved forward, delving deeper into the pub, which was lit only by the dim moonlight flowing in through an open window. The panther snickered and shifted his weight a bit, turning on his heel. His eyes peered into the darkness and a grin broke out on his face.

"Never thought I'd be glad to see a Tedi face…"


	2. Rambunctious Reunion

AN: Holy shit, it's the long awaited chapter 2, and it's a massive 6,500 words! This is basically everybody's introduction, I wanted to get through it in one chapter. You know the deal, comments and (constructive) criticism are very much welcome and boost my self-worth.  
EDIT: Added Zeta and Kay, who both came late. Sorry I forgot about that, guys.

Thomas "WWW" C. Blight

* * *

Chapter Two: Rambunctious Reunion

WWW shot a wide, toothy grin at Dark as Sarge materialized from the darkness around them.  
"It's good to see you too, Dark. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Harold Ardass," WWW said.  
"The defence minister?" Dark asked, surprised.  
"Yeah, that'd be me," The gray squirrel beside WWW replied. H. Ardass was wearing a white button-up shirt and formal black pants. He was of Dark's proportions and incredibly fit. His face was clean shaven and smooth, and his words flowed like a politician making a speech.  
"Sir…" Sarge began.  
"Quit it, Rodriguez. Just use my name." H. Ardass snapped.  
"Fine. So what's this request?" Sarge asked, obviously humbled.  
"We'll talk business when the rest of you get here," H. Ardass said.

Moments later, good old Anthrax came over to serve them.  
"Hey, what would y- Holy son of a bitch! I haven't seen you and your guys for a while!"  
"We were shut down, you know that."  
"Still no good reason to forget about me entirely!"  
Sarge was speechless, instead looking down at the floor underneath his barstool. It was true, there was no reason he avoided Anthrax's pub.  
"Aww, don't worry about it. So are the others coming?"  
"Yeah, should be here real soon."  
Anthrax reached under the bar and loaded the hidden shotgun.  
It was going to be one hell of a night.

A shrill piercing ring ended the laughter and giggling going on in Mon's head. He screwed his face up in dumb confusion, then in fury. He snatched up the phone next to his bed and flipped it on.

"Alright, it's..."  
He checked the time

"…Two Twenty-three in the morning. I was having a dream that Venus, goddess of love, was advancing to me with a paper-thin robe and we were in the gardens of paradise alone. That was my dream, until **you** interrupted it. This had better be good, if it isn't an emergency I will hunt whoever this is down until the ends of the Earth and sew your balls to your chin. State your business." His vengeful tone of voice could not be hidden.

There was a silence on the other line, but Mon thought he could hear suppressed snickering. This did not improve his mood.

"I keep catching you at a bad time, don't I soldier?" Said the voice of his Captain.  
Mon groaned and turned over in his bed, covering his eyes with his arm.  
"Gawdammit, Sarge, she was beautiful, Beautiful! Why did you have to call? Why now? Your tone of voice isn't unhappy, so no one died, but it's serious, so something up. What turn of events could have possibly led you to commit such a heinous act?"

"Dark's back."  
Mon bolted from his bed and stood up in the darkness  
"Come again!"  
"Get here ASAP at Anthrax's Pub."  
He hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Mon took a deep breath and walked inside the doors of the Pub. Five faces glanced over at his direction and Mon could see a few of them had guns at the ready.  
"Hold on to your horses, horse holders, it's just me. Hello Sarge."  
"Shit, it's Mon and his small talk."  
"Good to see you too sir. Hello Warclat."  
WWW nodded a greeting in his direction.  
"Anthrax."  
"Fuck you, you still owe me twenty three dollars, you ass."  
"Yeah and I love you too. Ah...there you are..."

Dark emerged from the shadows at that moment and grunted something that may have been a 'Hey there' or a 'hello'. Mon could not tell. But he was glad to see the panther notwithstanding.

"Where have you been?" The Captain asked.  
"Loafing about, mostly. Living on the royalties from my previous missions. Reading books, exploring the city. Reeeeally boring time, I'm glad something's happening. So, on to the point, what's going on, what the hell've you all been up to?"

Rico motioned to a figure sitting on a discreet corner. Mon didn't know who it was until he stood up. His eyes widened and he jumped to a salute.  
"Sir Minister!"  
The minister sighed. "At ease, I wish you wouldn't do that."  
"Sir, what is the cause for this encounter, sir?"  
The Minister opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and returned to his seat.  
"Let's wait for the others, alright? It's a lot of dangerous information and I don't want to have to explain more than once. Please, have a seat son."  
Mon saluted again and sat down next to Rico, attempting to get to know what was going on.

Anthrax was talking with the guys there about what had he done with the bar in their absence, mainly cleaning, doing some fixing to the plumbing and the tables. He was so bored he didn't hire anyone to fix the woodwork.

The door opened slowly and a gray squirrel entered the pub.

"Good Evening" said he.  
"Evening" replied Sarge.

He had a long drench coat. It was pretty worn down. Everything he had was worn down, except for his boots.

"Those boots... CG!" Said WWW, noticing CG's boots. They were made by Chael's symbiotic clones; shining jet black and they never tarnished.  
"Yep"  
"What has happened with you?" asked Dark  
"Not much. I started doing some meditating sessions, but I still have a long way to go for me to reach nirvana, heh heh. Anyway, besides meditating I tried to enter some soccer teams, but they were too lame so I stopped going to those recruiting games. And when that guy went on about us, I just stayed at home practicing soccer."  
"I don't get it, if the teams are so lame, why do you still practice?" asked Anthrax  
"Mainly because I plan to go some day to Europe and try to enter a team over there."  
"Oh."

He asked for his typical drink, with the reluctance of Anthrax, and sat down near the others.  
"So, what's the jig?"  
"We have to wait for the others," said H. Ardass.  
"Damn..."

Meanwhile, deep in the suburbs, Stealth's tabi boot touched the floor as he slipped into it, the cotton inside giving warmth to his foot. He yawned sleepily and stood up. On the desk next to the bed was the time; he noted that he was late already. Though Stealth did not act in haste, he dressed quickly. The lights in his room flickered on as he flipped the switch. In the dimly lit room Stealth could only be seen as a mere shadow. When he walked out of the room he squinted and shielded his eyes from the brightness of the light in the corridor.

As he grasped the copper handle of the front door leading out of the house, Stealth noticed a note on his door. The note only said "Anthrax's Bar." Not taking any more time to call the bar and find out what was going on, he left. When Stealth reached the bar, he found that some of the Platoon members had already arrived. As he walked in he saw a figure in the shadows. Stealth halted...

"Hello," He said, sat down, and was silent.  
"Man of many words," WWW mocked.  
"So you still haven't explained to me why we're here," Mon said, breaking the near-silence.  
"That's because WWW and H. Ardass are the only ones who know, and they're not telling," Sarge replied.  
"I told you already, wait until everyone's here," WWW said.

Twin suns glared down onto the planetary surface. Along the almost unbroken landscape of sandy dunes, there was a 50 cubic meter excavation site. One wall face of the excavated building appeared to be a temple and there was only one person on the site. This archeologist delicately removed an ancient jar from the sands. As he wiped the remnant dust from its surface, he smiled as he saw its decoration. He reached into his pockets searching for something.

"Where'd I put that damn data module?" He looked about his surroundings and couldn't find it. He exited the temple entrance and quickly looked over the site. Still missing, he began to ascend to outside the excavation area. He continued to stare at the jar as he reached the surface and headed towards his ship. When he reached it and spoke a strange language opening the door. On a console he found the module he had been searching for. He picked it up and set down the jar. As he did so, he noticed a blinking light on another console. He activated the module and connected to the computer trying to contact him.

"Sir there is a message from the Platoon. It seems they are meeting at the pub to discuss new business." A female voice began.  
"I'm busy right now." Chael retorted.  
"I'm sorry sir. I know you wanted solitude on this research project. But statistics show that any message from the Platoon usually results in…"  
"I know what happens we've been together long enough."  
"I wanted to know how to proceed." Chael let out a sigh before replying.  
"Until I get back you're in charge. If you can't decide, have my subordinates do so."  
"Yes sir."

He shut down the communication channel and went back to his work. He stared at the jar and began speaking into the module.

"Today I found another relic. This one, a decorative jar, was found slightly within the temple entrance. Its decoration, which depicts a female figure separated by ostrich feathers, seems to prove my suspicions about its history."

In the nerve center of Chael's main lab,the six highest ranked of Chael's men gather at a conference table. They were forced to stop their work for this meeting.

"Why did you call us here? We all have more important tasks to deal with." A biological Chael started.  
"All of us but the fatass." Another mumbled under his breath. A slightly obese Chael floated on suspensors into his seat.  
"I heard that. I'll have you know that you'd be useless without my work. The workers under me collect all the resources used by most of the facilities."  
"Both of you be quiet. The faster we get through this the sooner we can get back to our work." A Chael with a mechanical right arm said keeping the peace.  
"Thank you," the computer spoke, "you're here because Chael is gone. The Platoon has called and is convening at Anthrax's."  
"Good then let's go get tore up." A cyber-organic Chael spoke.  
"Please, I've gathered us because precedent dictates that this will lead to an instance of battle. Chael has authorized me to make any decisions in such matters. I cannot draw a firm conclusion so you all must do it for me."  
"It's simple, we send a battalion of soldiers and wipe out whatever the target is."  
"Genocide isn't necessary. We follow normal protocol. Send someone and let them do whatever's needed."  
"But who do we send?"  
"Since combat will most likely ensue we use this as a test period."  
"But I have no real new weaponry to test."  
"Then just send a synthoid."  
"I have another idea. One of my teams has been working on a biological soldier with enhanced traits. This could be a good opportunity to test one."  
"Sounds good to me."  
"Me too."  
"That's fine."  
"The genocide idea is best."  
"One thing, what about data collection?"  
"We're already inundated with projects and I don't think we should allocate more resources to workers."  
"Regardless, we should gather any data possible. He'll have a communication device, we can make sure it's capable a data gathering."  
"Then it's settled. Computer, I'll handle the details and send someone."  
"Thank you gentlemen, please return to your duties."

The group left and went about their business. The head of biological studies returned to a training facility. He waited outside a training arena till the soldier was finished. The doors opened and he exited. When he saw the research head he saluted.

"It's time for you to prove to our mechanical brethren that we are just as capable as them."  
"Yes sir. What is the mission?"  
"I don't know yet. It's the Platoon. They're gathering at Anthrax's Pub. Go and make me proud."

The soldier went to his quarters to prepare. He touched a panel on the wall and a portion of it opened. He removed some clothing and set it on the bed. He touched another panel and a bin withdrew from the wall. He stripped down and went to the pile on the bed. First he put on an ultra light vest of super dense materials, bullet-proofing at its finest. Next, pants and a sleeveless shirt made of stealth materials, resists heat and blocks heat signatures. He then stepped over to the bin. Inside were weapons and devices.

He pulled out two holsters, one on his upper body and the other around his waist and both legs. He pulled out the handguns for the holsters, two on each side for the upper body and one on each leg. Next, he removed two devices; one was a flechette launcher that strapped to his left wrist and the other a data module that looked like a watch on his right.

He took the boots off the bed and strapped them on followed by a trench coat made of the same material as the pants and shirt. He pulled the final items from the bin. First were a few extras of the modified clips the weapons use, then a submachine gun. Finally, he took out a pair of shades and an earpiece; the shades were capable of changing vision spectrum and the earpiece was the interface with the data module. He put the earpiece in place and a microphone came out and went into place.

He left his quarters and went to the gate room. He stepped through and arrived at the mountain gate. He exited the building and went to the mountain's garage. He looked at the vehicles before deciding. He found a motorcycle and swung his leg over it. He placed the gun into a holder on the side and locked it into place. Then he placed his thumb onto the biometric starter. The wheels lowered to the ground and the engine started. He revved up and tore out of the garage to Anthrax's.

He reached the bar and parked. He placed his thumb on the starter again and it shut down. After the wheels receded he got off and entered. He went to the bar and looked at Anthrax.

"Vodka."  
"When did you start drinking?" he asked.  
"I'm not quite who you think I am." Anthrax shrugged and turned to get the bottle. He set a glass down and went to open the bottle.  
"Don't bother with the glass." He took the bottle from his hand and opened it. He turned to the others and started to drink. When he put the bottle down and joined them it was down a quarter. "So where is everybody?"  
"Most have yet to arrive." WWW replied.  
"Ah, I see."  
There was a period of silence.  
"So why couldn't the original Chael come?" WWW asked, staring intently at the genetically modified Chael.  
"You're much more aware than our files led me to believe, WWW," the clone said, trying to change the subject.  
"Answer the question."  
Chael took another swig of the Vodka. He put the bottle down and answered the best he could.

"None of us are really sure. About two weeks after the platoon was shut down he cut himself off of the consciousness stream, grabbed some supplies, and took a ship somewhere. The only contact since then was when the computer gave him the message about this meeting." He took another swig.

"The heads had to decide who to sent in his stead. I was selected because of the recent work my leader did. I have heightened reflexes, enhanced senses, and a few other new traits. I'm the first generation of biological warriors who will eventually be on par with the robotic lines."

He took the bottle and drank until there was an eighth of the bottle left. He looked at it and sighed.

"I don't know why I drink this stuff. Because of my metabolism all I can manage is a short buzz. Yo barkeep, toss me another bottle. I don't care what."

As the other 99ners reminisced about old times and caught up on the current events, Sarge sat at the bar, as Anthrax was polishing a mug.

"What's up, Sarge? Thought you'd be happy seeing the gang back together again," Anthrax asked.  
"I am. Just can't believe it's been 6 months. We separated just like that," Sarge replied, snapping his fingers, "I wonder what the others have done since then. Even more so, I hope they're ready to jump back into action."  
"I'm sure they were able to take care of themselves. Hey, have you kept in contact with Oreos? He owes me 5."  
"Heh, That guy. I honestly don't know where he went. I sure do miss him though, one of my best men."  
Anthrax put down the mug, and wiped his eyes.  
"What's wrong?"  
"I never thought you cared Sarge. You love me! You reeeeally love me!"  
"What the fuck?"  
Oreos reached under his chin, and pulled off his mask. Anthrax walked in from the back.  
"**Oreos**! You again! Where's my 5!"

Oreos hopped over the bar, and took a seat next beside Sarge, who still needed to absorb what just happened.

"Sorry Anthrax, must've slipped my mind again. I'd like one Martini though, shaken, not stirred."  
"What the heck did you just do?" Asked Sarge.  
"Technology has really evolved. I was just testing out Mi6's latest. They can take a photo of anyone, or even a description, and create the perfect disguise. No one can tell the difference."  
Sarge just chuckled. The two shook hands, and caught up on with each other.  
"Mi6 took me back in when we fell apart. Back to my old roots you could say. I guess I just love saving the world. So what have you been doing?"  
Sarge opened his mouth to reply, but was abruptly cut off by the blue-eyed Venezuelan.  
"OREOS! Nice to see ya man! Where have you been!" CG inquired.  
Oreos turned around. Everyone else had noticed his presence. Greetings were exchanged, and it was like he was home again.

"Dark! Glad to see you made it out of that whole jail fiasco. I would've came to get you outta there myself, but damn boss kept me on a schedule."

Meanwhile, a policeman approached a lone car, far away from the pub.  
"Get your fuckin' hands up!" The officer said.  
A shadowy figure jumped out of his car and leapt over a fence into the darkness.  
"Not another one, I'm too old for this," He sighed.

Snickers gripped his gun out of its holster and flipped over the fence in pursuit of the drunken driver now running from the law. The camera panned through the darkness to the other side of the alley, where Snickers had pinned the perpetrator.  
"Ok, son. We can end this the easy way, or we can end this the hard way! Just gimme my fifth back and we can all go home!"  
"Oh my god! I'm on TV! **Heyyyy mooommm!**"  
"Son that's not a camera. Its a … an… um… Fuck it! **Gimme the Jack Daniels back!**"

The drunken perp began to show off for the camera and in the process dropped a fifth of Jack Daniels. The bottle shattered upon hitting the alley floor and the liquid within formed a puddle there. Snickers screamed accordingly and fired a few shots into the drunken bastard who dropped his last fifth. The cameraman walked over to Snickers and caught him blatantly crying.

"Get that thing outta my face man this is hard times... get in the car, we're headed back to the station."

Back at the station, the old, drunken cop slid his holster off and plopped down at his desk. A note sat on the top of his desk. It was labeled "Sergeant Snickers." His eyes went wide and he ripped it open and read it. Sure enough, it was what he was a waiting for. He bolted to his cop car and the tires squealed as he sped out.

At the Pub, the Platoon were all sitting at the bar, waiting for WWW's important news, when a loud screech was heard outside.

"What was that?"

A loud crash was heard as Snickers' car slammed into the curb, parked in perfect parallel. The driver was flung into the air and through the window of the pub, landing unceremoniously on the bar. Snickers leapt to his feet and jumped off the bar.

"Hello all! Now Ricy… **Where're my doughnuts?**"

See this room, robed in darkness. Lighted by a lone image. Screams rang from it, roars of battle and blood; The sound of bullet and cannon fire, the inhuman screams of some unnamed creature, the virtuous battle cries of war, warfare of the mind clashing against the alien flesh of monsters. Jets, battleships and world-destroying things hover over the battlefield, some hidden, some seeing. A figure sits before it, surveying all.  
_Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring._  
A moment passes after the ring, movement in which the shadow before the screen lifts a slender cell pone to his ear, clicking it on in the time that it would take the phone to ring again.  
"Hello, Sarge."  
"Fuck it! You couldn't-"  
"Sarge, you really need to remember that anything we do gets to the news one way or another." There is a pause in the darkened room, accenting the screams of the battle as a dull rustles underscores it. "'Jail break, four guards dead. One Inmate assumed escaped.' Rico, please. Don't think I'm that stupid."  
There was grumbling on the other line. "Fucker… How did you know it was me then?"  
"Well…there are about twenty messages in my voice mail…So, I'm assuming the 'Toon is back?"  
"Yeah. Now get your ass to-"  
"Anthrax's pub?" The figure finishes.  
"Bite me, Ajax."  
"Only if you don't, sir."  
"Just get over here."  
"Well," Ajax starts, the figure's paw rubbing his neck a little. "I'm kicking Chael's ass at Starcraft." The figure chuckles a little, watching his Zerg swarm the Protoss and ripping holes into the defenses as the computer controlled Terran charge into the weakening rear of his base.  
"Erm. Ajax, Chael… Or at least one of him."  
Picture a face, a feline if you want to be correct. Watch his face contort a little, his eye twitching slightly.  
"F-"  
Now, cut away. It is day, beautiful and bright. There is a tree, filled with birds of every kind of feather. Their eyes go wide, and they leap into the air, screeching and flapping away.  
"Fine." Ajax growls, one's point of view cutting back to the darkened room. He hangs up.

Elsewhere, Rico looks to the phone he holds.  
"That… was the single loudest curse word I've ever heard…"

Picture… the world. Watch its lights for a moment: Those great points of the cities, visible and dominating.  
Zoom in. Watch, you can see the flitting lights upon the lifelines of this world: The roads, connecting all. Above you see the gleaming dots of planes.  
Zoom in. You can see those roads, those dots clearer now. You can see them move, so watch them. See, some are more erratic, some slower, some faster.  
Zoom in. There's one much more erratic than all the others. It's moving faster, closer to those great cities of light.  
Zoom.  
Zoom.  
Zoom.

"So, when is 'jax getting here?"  
"Eh, you know him. He either won't show or he'll be here in a blaze of-"  
There is a squealing of tires, painfully loud. All heads snap to the window of the pub, watching in wide-eyed fear as a Mini Cooper speeds and spins close with deadly accuracy. Anthrax moves forward, as if trying to stop the car with his body.  
The car, red as flames, screeches to a halt just before the glass. A figure, feline by appearances, steps out, slamming the door of the car closed. He pushes the door of the pub open, grinning to the scowling faces. "Hey, all. How's it h-" He steps forward and, in a moment of grace, trips soundly and deftly over his feet, landing with a 'Thud.'  
"Ow."

As Ajax picked himself up and took his proper place at the bar, the boys continued talking.  
"Hey Triple W," Oreos asked, "What've you been doing since the shut down?"  
"Ah, not much, monitoring the most dangerous of the crew, working the surveillance end of homeland security, finding ways to beat Mi6 technology... I work for the now-public agency," WWW replied.  
"Wait, you're the guy who keeps beefing up security in Windy?"  
A fly landed on Oreos' ear. WWW mumbled something.  
"Yep, that's him."  
"Damn, that explains why we needed a new training ground."  
Everyone stared at Oreos.  
"Hey Oreos, are you sure you're not hearing things?"  
"Yeah, nobody said anything."  
Oreos looked around, wondering how he'd heard WWW.  
"Maybe a fly told him."  
Everyone looked at WWW like he was as crazy as he had been when they had disbanded after failing to capture Omega the first time. Which had been quite insane.

(A/N: Read Gappap's 99th Platoon: Flatfeet Saga to see just how crazy WWW was)

A fly landed on Chael's empty vodka bottle. WWW mumbled again.  
"FOR KALIMDOR!" shouted the fly, before flying around the room like the time they gave Pyst pixie sticks. It crashed into Ajax's nose before taking off again and disappearing from view.  
"Some people have friends in high places. I have friends everywhere, and right now they're having too much fun."

Black. Nothing, and yet everything. Dreamless nights were not uncommon for Blaze, who had long forgotten everything that may have once been worth dreaming about. Everything was simpler now. No guns, no ammo, no explosions.  
"What's the point of living if you can't feel alive?" What a fantastic question.

He awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing on the bedside table. The hedgehog grunted and smacked it off of the desk, rolling over. Soon enough he was asleep again. Waking again a few hours later, Blaze slid out of bed wiping the sleep from his eyes. As he walked out into the kitchen, he flicked the switch to the 'on' position. Squinting against the fluorescent light, he sat himself at his table and began staring into the wood.  
"How the hell did I get here...?" He asked himself, fully knowing the answer. Ah well, things like that shouldn't be dwelt upon anyway. What he _did_ want to consider, however, was

RING RING RING

The shriek of the telephone ripped Blaze back to reality. He moved across the cold tile floor and lifted the receiver.  
"Uh… hello?"  
A familiar voice responded.  
"You're late."  
"What?"  
"I said, _you're late_. Pub. Now."  
"Is it really y"  
-Click-

Blaze slowly lifted the phone from his ear, turning to stare at it. He blinked a few times before accepting that the voice he heard on the other end was indeed who he thought it was. Shaking off the awkwardness, he threw the phone backwards over his shoulder and was back in his room before it hit the ground. Finding the wall in the darkness, he grasped the handle to the closet door and threw it open. He yanked the pull cord to activate the light and moved towards the back of the small room to the armoire resting there. The hedgehog stopped, looked the wardrobe up and down, and pulled the heavy oak doors apart.

The breath that had was being drawn in as the doors swung apart was cut short when a swirl of dust escaped and caused Blaze to cough. He swatted away the dust and drew out his old equipment. Pulling on his hooded sweatshirt and pants, he threw the rest of his gear into a bag and walked out the front door of his house.

Twenty minutes later, Blaze was standing outside Anthrax's pub, looking in the windows for any signs of life. Failing to see anything, he decided to try the door. It opened and creaked halfway open. He heard half a dozen guns cock along with some frenzied whispers. Cautiously, he poked his head around the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he laid eyes on his comrades sitting around a large squirrel who he'd never seen before. Introductions would come later, he thought, closing the door behind him.  
"So... how's everyone been?"

The platoon made idle chatter for a while, waiting for the last of those who had been contacted to arrive, Sarge still frantically hunting down Pyst and some others. Finally, the door opened and a familiar face greeted these soldiers. The fox girl, Serena, had glided down in front of the pub from a nearby building and walked in. There were most of her comrades from the 'toon. She walked in slowly a bit before falling unconscious. When she awoke, her peers were gathered around her.

"Geez, what happened, Serena? You look terrible."  
"Yeah, and besides all that, your clothes look like they haven't been changed in weeks."

The female fox stirred a little before opening her eyes.  
_Those... weasel rebels...why would they kill...innocent children...why?_  
She stood up and sat at the bar. Sarge walked up and put his hand on her shoulder.  
"Fox Girl? Are you okay?"  
"I just... need a drink, that's all."

12:00 AM, location undisclosed. Andy was busy with routine maintenance work on his PC, and he grudgingly clicked the 'start' button on his disk defragmenter window. He knew this would take no less than 6 hours, and he didn't feel like watching over it tonight. Leaving the computer to its task, he switched off the monitor and went to the kitchen to get a can of soda. The kitchen of the house that he had come to own now that the platoon had been disbanded. It was a nice house, but he just didn't feel the same anymore. Everything, even his best video games, seemed so boring now that there was no 99th Platoon. Andy reached into the fridge and pulled out a Pepsi.

_Why didn't the turkey who leaked out our number get in trouble? It's **his** fault this happened, so why'd **we** get disbanded for it?_ Thoughts like this had been filling his mind since that day, 6 months ago, though he always knew that it wasn't the end of the platoon. It **couldn't** end.  
Or at least, not like that.

Then, a faint beep emanated from his room.

The noise startled him, and he almost dropped his soda. He knew instantly what it was, and, not at all surprised, made his way through the dark house back to his bedroom. He fumbled around in a drawer in his computer desk, and finally his beeping headset emerged, an item that, after 6 months without use, still seemed to work perfectly. Andy slid the headset over his ears and pressed a button on the receiver.

"Hello...?" He spoke into the microphone, almost reluctantly.  
"Zeta?"

"Yeah?" A smile found its way onto Andy's face. Just as he thought, it was Sarge on the other side.

"FINALLY! Get your butt over to Anthrax's bar, pronto! I'll give you the details when you meet up with the rest of us."

click

At 12:40 AM, the creaky doors to Anthrax's Pub swung open, and Zeta walked in with rocket launcher, assault rifle, and elbow blades in tow.

A ladybug creeped down the green and brown stalk. The ladybug, or ladybird beetle, usually with 6 dots on each wing. However, this one had 6 on the right, yet only 5 on the left. The beetle probably didn't know that it was different, being only so simple. But the same was true for a squirrel like him. He envied it, blissfully ignorant, not knowing it's own faults and differences. It was different for someone like him though, he knew perfectly what was happening around him... and he liked it. Remembering an old quote, "What does a fish know about the water he swims in all his life?" That made him think and molded him more into the person he was. Now.

Kay blinked, discarding the random thoughts and took a deep breath. There was things to be done and places to go. He took his first step back into Anthrax's Pub to be back with the platoon.

In the outskirts of Windy, Rick 'Pyst' Gores stood on top the roof of his house. He stood in awe at Windy, admiring the exquisite collection of skyscrapers and lights that made the city glow like some kind of holy haven. Rick gripped a bottle of beer loosely, and took a swig from it.

"That is a beautiful scene..." Pyst slurred to himself. The pleasant happy-sick feeling of booze and cigarettes gracing his mind and soul.

"Rick!" Pyst's pal Tobias '47' Reiper snapped him out of his daze, "What the hell are you doing, hurry up!"  
"Just watering my grass..." Pyst finished urinating off his house and zipped up his fly.  
"Whatever, everything's set up." 47 said, handing Pyst a pump-action shotgun. Pyst took the shotgun and chambered a shell.

"What's the record?" Pyst asked, "10 yards?"  
"15 yards," 47 corrected him, "and you get bonus points if you can hit it 5 times before it touches the ground."  
"Five times?" Pyst rested the shotgun on his shoulder, "no problem!"

47 grabbed a Weasel, bound and tied up. He set him on the edge of Pyst's roof.

"All right buddy," Pyst said, "You got exactly five seconds to tell us where your boss keeps his money, or I'm afraid I'll have to break my good friend 47's record with your bloody corpse."

"What are you gonna do?" The weasel asked nervously.  
"Yes or no, butt munch." Pyst raised the shotgun.  
"Look!" The weasel pleaded, "I don't fuckin' know! Honestly! My boss doesn't tell me shit!"  
"Wrong answer!" Pyst said.  
"Hold on a second," 47 said, Pyst held off. "You honestly think you can beat my record."  
"You're damn right!" Pyst said.  
"With that skinny bastard?" 47 shook his head, "you don't have a chance!"  
"Oh," Pyst said, "I got a plan! I'm aiming right for his stomach, which will send him reeling back with just enough spin to let me plant the remaining five slugs into him!"  
"Wait, wait!" the weasel pleaded.  
"You ain't got a chance!" 47 sneered.  
"I'll tell you everything I-"  
"Kiss your record goodbye, 47!" Pyst levelled the shotgun and fired. The weasel was sent flying back. Pyst jumped a step forward and planted the remaining slugs into the airborne weasel.  
**KA-BLAM!** "One!"  
**KA-BLAM!** "Two!"  
**KA-BLAM!** "Three!"  
**KA-BLAM!** "Four!"  
**click click** "Fi- what the fuck!"

The weasel's corpse hit the ground with a wet _smack!_.

"Sorry Pyst," 47 said, "13 yards and 4 shots, you loose."  
"Bullshit!" Pyst yelled, "you didn't load the fifth shell you cheating bastard!"  
"Don't blame me!" 47 said, "You should've checked the weapon first!"  
"You cocker!" Pyst threw the shotgun to the ground.  
"Don't be a sore loser." 47 said, "Besides, I gotta get to work."  
"Right, right" Pyst said, "thanks for stopping over man,"  
"Any time," 47 said, "I'll see you next week!"  
"Yeah," Pyst said, "Later dude. And don't worry, I'll clean up the mess tomorrow."  
47 left and Pyst found himself another bottle of beer and a lit up a cigar. He sat on his roof, taking another look at Windy.

"What a nice city," Pyst whispered to himself, "too bad its run by a bunch of fuckheads who like to get my ass fired!"

"That's all who'll come, Rico. The rest are still in hiding."  
"Not quite."  
"We'll have to reach the others later - we can't afford to wait."  
Sarge flicked open his cell phone and dialed his second speed dial.  
"There's one who'll come. All he needs is a little persuasion."

Pyst took another swig from his beer when suddenly, the phone rang. Pyst looked around to find his cordless phone, then realized he forgot to take it with him. Pyst swore, then shrugged, and laid back down.

"Nobody important calls anyway!" Pyst declared, "It's not like Sarge is calling with a new mission or anything!"

Pyst took a puff from his cigar, ignoring the phone and waiting for whoever the hell was calling to stop calling.

They would not.  
The ringing continued, running deep into Pyst's temples, splitting his head open like someone driving a wedge deep between his skull plate.  
Pyst's left eye began twitching, his blood vessels showing more prominently.  
He snatched the phone up.  
"**WHAT!**"  
"Sarge."  
"**WHAT!**"  
"It's Sarge. Now start doing the happy dance!"  
"It's ok Sarge, I'm cool-"  
"**DO THE DAMN HAPPY DANCE!**"  
Swearing, Pyst, the phone held between his ear and shoulder begins swinging his hips and rotating his arms.  
"And say the words too!"  
"Aw hell naw, Sarge!"  
"Words!"  
Pyst swears under his breath, then begins:  
"_I'm happy...I'm happy-happy as I do the happy-happy dance..._"  
"Good."  
Muffled snickers were heard over the line as Pyst frowned.  
"Dammit Sarge, if I'm on speakerphone, I'll be there in three seconds to rip you a new arse."  
Laughter floods the other line of the phone.

Sarge hangs up, staring at the other 99ers, chugging beer. Suddenly all goes quiet as he feels a hand on his shoulder.  
"Told you I'd be here in three seconds."  
Sarge spun round. Pyst, dressed in full combat attire, held a large pair of scissors in surgical gloves.  
"So," he began, "What's the situation?"

H. Ardass had almost begun the explanation when the doors of the pub opened and a dark, cloaked figure standing in the doorway. The wind shrieked into the room, sending a sharp sting of cold through some of the occupants. The figure carried a bloodied scythe.

"Err...Hi Gregg...you've grown?" blurted out Oreos. The figure walked in and spoke with a deep voice. "Foolish Mortal! I have come for your soul!" The figure lifted his scythe and swung it directly at Oreos' head. Oreos closed his eyes in terror, preparing for the strike. As the blade connected, a high-pitched squeak came from it. Oreos felt the bouncy, inflated feel of the scythe. "It's fake!" He exclaimed.

"Hehehe, I thought you'd be more scared than that," said the figure. He finally lifted up his head. A squirrel face beamed at them from under the hood. "Hi everyone!" spoke FlatFeet. He threw off the cloak and seated himself down with the rest of the platoon.

"Where have you been?" asked Oreos. "I've actually been in a rehab clinic, to try and get over Cherry's death." replied FlatFeet "It's worked quite well, and I can spend more time on other things rather than sobbing, like working on my technology skills. I've managed to combine a flamethrower and a ZMG together to make a nice combo," he added with a smile. "So what's going on?"

_And then there were sixteen..._


	3. Annoying Alliteration

AN: Here we are again… chapter three. Hopefully, it'll be much clearer than chapter two, although I think I abused dashes in this one.

What's with fanfiction and dashes, anyways?

-Thomas "WWW" C. Blight  
  
Chapter 3: Annoying Alliteration

Sixteen people who had been to hell and back so many times they had begun to enjoy it. Sixteen people who had grown so close over the course of a few years that they may as well have been blood-related. Sixteen people who would set their sights on one single goal and combine their impressive skills and peculiar minds to regain something they had lost… Something that was taken from them: respect; their bond and their lives.

The Platoon itself was comprised of more than sixteen people, but there were a few who could not possibly make it. They were physically unable to be with their comrades, but spiritually, they would be on the battlefield fighting alongside their brethren. It was the way of the soldier. He had to be on the battlefield beside his fellow brothers-in-arms, or he wasn't at home. If they died and he lived, there would be no forgiveness or self-pity. There would be only self-hatred. Self-loathing. But the Platoon did not plan to die. They had too much to gain and too little to lose, which gave them an edge in battle and tactics.

All that could have been reached had been gathered, and they all stood in the same room. Each one of them was wondering what they were doing in a place such as Anthrax's bar a place they had frequented so many times mere months before but had since become alienated with the bar itself. What they were about to find out would shock them. Anger them, even. There would be no forgiveness in their hearts when they heard of the treachery!

All fell silent as Sarge raised his hand, patting the air before him. He stepped off to the side, motioning for WWW and his companion to take center stage, which they quickly did. As the Tediz, good-hearted as they come, began to speak, his words echoed in the minds of his listeners.

"Our disbanding was no accident, my friends," he began. "For there is a man who serves under Conker, which is no surprise to you, I'm sure. There are many who serve under the King... But this one in particular is the keeper of secrets. We, the 99th Platoon, _are_ a secret… were a secret. Our operations almost always involved going behind enemy lines without proper authorization, and we were given the most difficult objectives ever to cross the King's desk..."

"Cut to the chase," came a raspy reply as Dark leaned forward slightly, half of his face able to be seen, but both of his eyes shimmered intensely as he looked upon his comrade.

"The chase. Right." WWW was about to speak when there was a rather loud growling noise that of someone clearing his clogged throat.

"Ah! My apologies… For those of you that don't know, this is Defense Minister H. Ardass. He is a major part of the reason we are all gathered here today... Perhaps I should turn it over to him."

The Platoon stirred slightly as the Defense Minister took the floor, his words flowing out with the ease of a campaigning politician.

"The problem here is that you were all wrongly treated and your operation was wrongly shut down due to the fact that a man named Arkaine let your unit number slip. The media ate it up and people began to question Conker's ability to rule without lying to his people. He had no choice but to flush the operation, and all of you with it."

A pause.

"Accidents do happen, but not in matters such as this. We believe Arkaine purposely let your number slip. We came to this conclusion after an extensive background check and surveillance of him. We have evidence that leads us to believe that this man has ties with a large terrorist cell, and he is planning to overthrow the King. We need you to stop him."

Dark stepped outwards into the dim light, his arms hanging at his sides. His eyes stayed locked with that of the Defense Minister, and a slight frown tugged at his lips. He was, no doubt, disappointed with how things were being run. The only line of defense for the King from an inner strife had been flushed due to information that slipped. It should have been so obvious! They should have seen it!

He growled lowly, turning on his heel towards his fellow Platoon members. They had all been assembled to save the King that had thrown them back into reality without the slightest thank you. The King who had allowed Dark to be thrown behind bars and turned into even more of an animal than he already had been... The King who they had saved countless times before, the King that they would save again.

_And so it begins..._

Snickers' eyes glinted as he felt the warm gin descending through his throat, emptying his glass. _Another mission going down_, he thought. It was time to drop his drinking habit and get back into gear. He reached in his backpack and grabbed his holster, wrapping it around his shoulder as the Defense Minister pulled out a large map.

"Alright, intelligence reports show that this city is completely overrun by the terrorists, and is being used as a hostile base of operations. The military has already been dispatched but they can't get there immediately. What we need is a small force to cause some chaos in the terrorist ranks, maybe scare some of their men into deserting. Your second objective is to infiltrate the clock tower in the center of the city and get some answers. Then, you'll dust off and let the army clean up."

With that the team grabbed their bags and hiked outside the pub, where a pair of helicopters waited for them hidden in the darkness. Snickers looked at the one on the left and instantly recognized his old friend. He quickly hopped into the cockpit and gripped the joystick. Memories of old times swelled in his head. All he knew is that he was happy to be back. He slid on his helmet and focused his lenses. Outside, the bay doors boomed open and the platoon began to pile in.

He was happy to be on a mission again with his boys, and yet there was a part of Sarge's mind that could not rest.

**Arkaine.**

The name struck a chord in Sarge's presubconscious and yet remained distantly in front of him, like someone hiding in a thick pea-soup fog. He tried remembering what the name meant to him, yet a separate image emerged...

_'I've got a bullet hole in my chest...and it's not looking good.'_

Sarge had read Oreos' report over a year ago.

_'Tediz snipers are pouring in. Those bastards found us out.'_

They were storming the base. Tediz. Everywhere.

_'I'm taking heavy fire. My tower's gonna fall. There's only one way.'  
'I'm leading this mission! You can't talk like that soldier!'_

Seconds later the tower had exploded in a jet of flame.  
He was gone.  
It was over.

Sarge shook his head. There was a new mission at hand.  
Let the ghosts of the past rest in peace...

The chopper's blades whirred as they rotated at near-sonic speed. They flew over a military encampment and began to enter the area the terrorists had claimed as theirs. The terrorists had already taken thousands of people hostages, from everyday citizens to politicians and him. The king. Conker.

The ex-soldiers saw a military camp, flying the Windy banner. They didn't understand; Ardass had said the military was on its way, but wouldn't be able to deploy for at least two days. This camp was definitely ready to deploy at any moment. Could it be that Ardass' intelligence was a trick and that they were walking into a trap? It was dangerous to think about, but Sarge knew it couldn't be. Mr. Ardass was highly respected for his devotion to his men and his country. However, he couldn't ignore the possibility that Arkaine could've tainted the intelligence reports.

**Meanwhile, at the aforementioned base**

-_Ring-_

A brown squirrel and several grey squirrels sat at a table strewn with maps and intelligence reports. They were in a large tent, with several armed guards at the door and patrolling around it.

-_Ring-_

The brown squirrel, known as Arkaine, the traitor, looked around. The grey squirrels, all sporting Standard Army Attire but decorated from numerous victories, all looked at each other.

-_Ring-_

All eyes fell on Arkaine. He realized it was his phone ringing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out.

_"Hello, Arkaine. It's Ardass. Where are you?"_  
"Relax, Ardass. I'm in a military camp. I know you're the defense minister but you worry too much."  
_"This is a serious matter, Arkaine. We need to make sure all high-ranking officials are safe, preferably not in the same spot."_  
"I know. I'm in the middle of a meeting, so you can go ahead and warn the others."  
_"Okay. Stay safe, Arkaine."_

**In Anthrax's Pub**

Harold Ardass put the phone down. He knew Arkaine was with the terrorists, but he didn't have the authority or the backing to get him out of a commanding position. For now, he'd pretend he didn't know about Arkaine's background.

Four men walked in; a grey squirrel, a hedgehog, a fox and a weasel. They were wearing plain clothes and seemed just like normal customers. The squirrel walked up to the bar, with one hand behind his back.

"I need a Defense Minister, on the rocks."  
"We don't serve those here."  
The click of a gun's safety and the gun's barrel against his ear told Anthrax they meant business.  
"Oh, you do now."  
"I told you, we don't serve those here!"

Anthrax smashed him in the gut, hard enough to wind him. Anthrax ducked and grabbed the shotgun, pumping it and blasting the guy's ribcage at point blank as soon as he got back up. He ducked down again and saw H. Ardass roll over the bar.

_It's going to be one long night..._ Anthrax thought.

The resulting gunfight left three more dead terrorists on the floor of the pub and two unhurt squirrels behind the bar.  
_Damnit, this'll cost a fortune!_ Anthrax thought, surveying the damage resulting from the gunfight. The bar was in bad shape, with dents where bullets ricocheted off of it and holes where bullets had entered it. Behind the bar, a keg was pierced and leaked foamy ale. Looking over to H. Ardass, Anthrax noticed there were almost no shots near him. They obviously wanted him alive.

"You've got dangerous acquaintances, Ardass. I can't stay awake forever, so either you take the back door out or you stay here and stay on your guard."  
"I'll leave. But I'll take the service route."

Anthrax lifted a rug on the floor to reveal a sewer drain. Lifting the drain, Ardass entered the sewer. Anthrax handed him a flashlight before closing the drain and putting the rug back over it. Then sighing as he surveyed the scene, Anthrax got to work cleaning up.

**The Helicopter**

"Set us down here." WWW said.  
"I know what I'm doing! We can go a little farther!" Snickers replied.  
"Something's wrong."  
"We can go a little farther."  
"What's that on the thermo radar?"  
"Dunno. Moving fast though."  
"Wait... Isn't that about the speed of an anti-air missile?"  
"As fired from a stinger missile launcher?"  
"Yes."  
"Yes."  
"Fuck!"  
"Bail out! Everyone drop!"  
The platoon dropped out of the helicopter, parachutes on their backs, until only WWW and Snickers remained.  
"Fuck the helicopter, man! Drop or die!"  
WWW grabbed Snickers and pulled him out of the helicopter.

The helicopter exploded, lighting up the sky. Shrapnel sliced through the air around the two ex-soldiers, barely missing them, but piercing their parachute. Their descent quickened as the parachute produced less drag.

"My... My baby!"  
"Oh shut up, you would've been blown up with it if it weren't for me."

They landed roughly to find themselves surrounded by terrorists packing assault rifles. WWW counted 15 on his side and there were probably at least that much behind him.

"Hey Snickers, on a scale from one to ten, how screwed are we?"  
"Fourteen."

The morning glare from the numerous rifles pointed at his head irritated Snickers's eyes. It was clear to him that they couldn't hope to beat such odds, and he slowly dropped his gun and put his hands on his head. Behind him, WWW sensed his movements and did the same. The terrorists' ranks split, opening for a muscular white panther.

"Ahh, you must be Windy mercenaries. I admit, I expected better than you."  
WWW suppressed a snarl. _We are the best there is._  
"I hope you find our hospitality satisfactory. After all, we offer only the best."

They were handcuffed and marched toward the city.

WWW and Snickers looked around as they were force-marched to wherever they would be imprisoned. There were thirty-one terrorists, with mixed races. WWW saw nearly every race represented, except Tediz, of course.

Their apparent leader was standing behind the two captives. He cut a sharp and unique figure, an albino panther wearing light grey leather. He reminded WWW of Dark, except white and with two long knives strapped to his belt instead of a sword. WWW was thinking his name might be Light, but decided it was too corny to have two panthers with brightness related names in the world.

"Stop." The order was efficient at most. It told WWW nothing of his character.  
"The prisoners cannot be allowed to see the route we take." Again, the panther was brutally efficient.

A cracking noise to his left told WWW they weren't going to be blindfolding them. WWW felt the next crack, on the back of his skull. He went out cold.

The female fox looked at the walls to see if they could find a way out of the mess, but as she did, her cellmate, Flatfeet, was looking through the window, looking like he had nothing else better to do. She stopped and looked at him.

"Is something wrong, Flatfeet?"  
"Nah, nothing's wrong. Just wondering how the fuck we're ever gonna get out of this place.  
"But staring into space isn't gonna help, is it?"  
"Beats me...but maybe you had something in mind?"

Serena looked to the wall.  
"I'm trying to see if there are any hollow bricks, so that way we could get out and then help Sarge & the others."

"Well good luck," Flatfeet said, then muttered, "_you're gonna need it..."_

With that, the wondered fox continued to tap to find the hollow brick, hoping it would get them both out.

Oreos had his back against a wall. Checking his ammo, he was ready for one heck of a ride. It's not like any of this was new to him. He was saving the world even after the plat99n split; but now he was back on a team. It wasn't just his ass on the line anymore.

Whether that be a good or bad thing, Oreos decided not to think about it. Their primary objective was to eliminate Arkaine.

He kept his K7 Avenger on its strap, and treaded towards the tall grass for cover.

Chael touched down and removed his chute. He looked around but couldn't see any of the others.

_Looks like I have to track down the others._

He closed his eyes and focused on his hearing, but only natural sounds could be heard. So he shifted his concentration to smell.

_Sniff.  
Sniff._

He turned his head to his right and opened his eyes.

_That's a scent I recognize._

He headed into the area sub machine gun in hand. He thought to himself that his first mission was turning out to be fun.

"Aw fuck, I'm getting too old for this crap."  
Sarge saw white - naught else as he rummaged through the folds of his parachute. He couldn't believe just how fast they had screwed up.  
He continued to fumble through the material's folds.  
They were scattered deep in hostile terrorist territory, searching for the abducted Conker.  
"Pfft..." Sarge snorted. "Long live the King..."  
He squinted his eyes as he came out of the bright white 'chute, and scanned the surrounding environment.

He was, most definitely, lost.

"Shit." Sarge grabbed his sore back. "It's gonna be a long day..."

It was all wrong. The Platoon lay scattered amongst a land they had not before traveled. A land infested with the evil and malicious terrorists that threatened the every day existence of every man, woman, and child on the planet. They wanted it their way or no way at all, and they felt no remorse for any action taken. Monsters! They would all die every last one of them. They would fall to the cold steel of swords and the painfully accurate shots of the vast majority of the Platoon Pyst not included.

Dark had dove out of the chopper before most others due to his feline reflexes, but he was reluctant in doing so. He knew the consequences of their actions, but he also knew the more lethal consequences of staying in a helicopter that was doomed to explode. He hit the ground and fell into an immediate roll, becoming somewhat tangled in the cords that attached him to the long white parachute that dragged along behind him. An irritated growl and a slight scraping sound later, the cords were soon severed, and the panther stopped his roll, slamming his foot into a nearby tree trunk.

Dark flipped up to his feet, using the sudden and abrupt movements to check for any broken bones or torn muscles. Save for a few sore spots, he was perfectly and oddly intact. His violet irises scanned the immediate area, and he found it to be forested where he had landed. However, about two hundred yards ahead of him, there was a clearing, in which the target city lay. He was alone in the midst of a large amount of terrorists. The thought alone would have sent chills down the spine of any man, but it brought a wry grin to Dark's face. Though he found the odds intriguing, he knew he had to find his comrades…

FourteNo! Fourteen was not the correct number!

It all came rushing back to the panther, as he stood alone in the middle of a thick forest. Before they had all left the pub for the choppers, the last two additions to the team had showed up. Zeta. Kay. They were newer recruits to the team alongside Serena, and they were the last to get the message that the Platoon was re-assembled for another, more secretive mission. Their late arrivals had not gone without a berating by Sarge, but they were welcomed and informed as of the details in the chopper... It all must have slipped Dark's mind as he was pondering the mission itself...

Sixteen soldiers good, honest men and women scattered behind enemy lines with no means of communication. They would have to be found and gathered before the assault on the city was made. The Platoon could not hope to take down the terrorist regime occupants if they were not unified in doing so.

Dark grunted slightly as he sped off, dodging tree limbs and leaping over logs. He had to find Sarge first. Undoubtedly, the terrorists would be looking for survivors of the crash. The panther had seen Sarge falling, and he noted that the squirrel landed in the same vicinity.

"Put... them... lower... cell... keys"

This is what Snickers heard as he groggily came to his senses, a piercing headache surging from the back of his head. He winced his eyes at the light from a single bulb in the ceiling. He had been knocked out cold for at least an hour. The squirrel reached his tied arms out and felt some fuzz. Yep, it was WWW beside him. They were both locked up somewhere in the tower and they both had to get out unnoticed. Snickers nudged WWW in the stomach and heard a groan as the bear came to life again. WWW flailed wildly.

"What the hell, where's those bastards... Snicks, you ok?"  
"Yea, lil headache, light's not helping... anyways they stripped our weapons and I guess we're pretty far underground, the way the roof is leaking and how it's smelling like dirt in here. Any Ideas...?"  
"I've got a few...but those guards are gonna have to go... that's where you come in Snicks, I'll get started on these bars."

The squirrel felt WWW's claw reach over to his ropes and slash them. His hands fell free; it was time to get to business.

Stealth Fired one shot at the double glass door entrance of a nondescript building. The bullet shattered the window on contact. Sending shards of glass all over the floor, and all over Stealth as he leaped through one of the doors. As soon as the Ninja landed he quickly scanned the area, no terrorists in sight. His eyes glowed like an animals hunting its prey in the dark. He stayed low and shook off all of the pieces of glass stuck to his attire. Tanks and soldiers patrolled the outskirts of the city. It would be difficult to find a way in.

Stealth needed to find an ally to accompany him. Though, that would also be somewhat of a journey, since the Platoon had scattered. Hopefully he would meet up with someone. Stealth dropped to his stomach, and hurried into the tall grass.

WWW checked the bars. Good quality stuff. I'd be hard to break through them, but if he tried, it would be a few hours. He could try to reach through and pick the lock...

He poked his head out, looking at the lock. Straight keyhole. WWW surmised that it wasn't a keyhole but actually a data stick insert. It seemed to be a High-grade prison. He wondered what kind of felons would normally be kept here: Probably worse than Dark, he decided.

He looked at the hinges of the door and stared in shock. The hinges were unprotected. He started to work removing the pins. He held the door in place, handed the pins to Snickers and waited.

Snickers' arm reached out to the guard. Taking a pin, he forced it through the soft tissue in the guard's neck. The guard dropped dead. He pulled a knife off the guard and slit the other's throat.

WWW moved the door and they made their short-lived escape.

"Going somewhere, boys? You remain quite persistent. Now that we know your skill, you will be put somewhere you will not be a threat." The albino panther said as Snickers and WWW stopped in their tracks.

WWW threw the guard's knife as he drew the handgun he had pocketed. Snickers did likewise.

The panther grabbed both knives by the hilt before flipping them in his hand and throwing them back. The ex-soldiers dodged and fired on him. He drew his knives as he dodged and moved towards Snickers. He slashed, but Snickers fired, forcing the panther to execute a rolling dodge. As a consequence, the bullet hit one of the knives, knocking it out of the panther's hand. He lifted the other to slash. Time seemed to slow down.

_-click-_

_-click-_

_-clickclick-_

_-clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick-_

Out of ammo.  
Snickers could only watch as his death came down upon him. He closed his eyes. Time returned to normal and the slash arced down above Snickers' head.

Only it was hit by a bullet and thrown out of the hand holding it.

Snickers opened his eyes to see a very angry albino panther standing in front of him, unarmed. He grabbed Snickers and flung him into WWW. Two cracks sounded as their heads hit the wall. They were out cold.

They awoke in an all-brick cell, save a steel door with naught but air holes for the prisoners.

WWW heard tapping on the other side of the wall. He tapped his name in Morse code and pressed his ear to the wall.

_A vaca foi para o brejo._

"The cow went to the swamp." It was a Brazilian saying meaning that something had screwed up completely.

That was what Mon had cursed to himself as he bailed. It was when he landed on the surface of an apartment complex that he noticed he wasn't alone. Another squirrel had landed with him. It was comforting to know that misery enjoys company.

"Oi, who's there?"  
"Mon?"  
"CG?"

In the darkness of the night, Mon whipped out his scalpel and commenced to cut himself from his bonds. His companion began to do the same with a knife.

"Fancy meeting you here," said the medic after he was free from his straps and coming to a couched position.  
"Agh, what a way to begin the mission," said CG, parting the last strap from his pack. He checked the perimeter from what little he could see. All seemed well.

'You think we've been seen?'

An uneasy silence ensued for some time. Both squirrels arched their ears to minute sounds. At most it sounded like a commotion was happening elsewhere. This was slight comfort for them. The only other sound was the breeze molding it's way past the two.

"We're in the green. Got everything?"

"Yup, it's all right here."

Rubbing the dust from their eyes, they could see that hey were on a building, about eight stories in height, at about the outskirts of the city. The light breeze continued to blow.

"Righty ho then, Charlie Gamma, the terrorists have probably seen our chutes, so I think we best be getting a move on."  
"Sure thing Delta... uh... What was Y again?"  
"Yankee"  
"And M?"  
"Motel. Dammit CG, aren't you supposed to know all this?"  
As they made their was down the complex, through the flight of stairs, CG muttered something about "Not paying attention during that part of the training."


End file.
